Stars and Stripes For Never
by Ghosty Starr
Summary: Alcohol and magic don't mix—especially when you're the embodiment of the English nation and Independence Day is near. After waking up on July 4th with a hangover and no recollection of the previous night, England discovers that the American Revolution seems to have been completely wiped out of the history books and suddenly he has regained one colony. USUK! (Rated for language)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_This is a nightmare._

He knew he was dreaming. He knew it was not real. He always dreamt of _him_ during this time of year, always thought of what was and what is. Half of him was berating himself for not delivering a quick pinch to his arm to wake himself up and put an end to his newest nightmare, but the other half can't bring himself to do so. Because, though he would never admit it, he felt like as if this was exactly what he deserved.

"England!" a child's happy voice cut through the dream like ice. England turned instantly in its direction, smiling at the small boy that bounded into his arms, beaming like he was the happiest lad in the world.

_But this isn't real._

England was quite aware, and yet he didn't want it to end. He clung to the memory, welcomed it, and didn't even bother to stop what came next. In a flash, the boy in his arms had grown. His wide blue eyes, once so bright and trusting, turned cold and malicious. England stumbled back, aghast even though he knew it had been coming.

_It's always the same dream…_

A long rifle was pointed in his face, held in place by two steady hands. England did nothing.

_It'll never change…_

England jerked awake with a strangled gasp. For a dizzy moment, he had no idea where he was. He sat up with a groan, holding his absolutely _throbbing_ head, and realized he had fallen asleep in his backroom, the one he only used whenever he wanted to use a particularly powerful spell. And what was in his hand? Was that a wand?

"Overdid it a bit…" he muttered to himself as he eyed a rather impressive pile of empty bottles of various alcoholic drinks. He tried to think back to how he managed to end up in his magic room, but clearly he had consumed much more alcohol than he had previously given credit for. He couldn't remember a single thing.

The last memory he could recall was leaving the United Nations meeting to have drinks with France.

France.

England gritted his teeth and immediately dug in his pockets for his mobile. When he finally located it, he checked the time. Nearly midnight. Tomorrow was Fourth of July. Ah, well, that would explain the drinking.

Feeling slightly better at having discovered at least one piece of the puzzle, Arthur checked his messages. It was practically a tradition for Francis to leave Arthur a text mocking whatever embarrassing thing he had done while intoxicated. To his surprise and slight irritation, he only had two messages. One was from France, but he was merely reminding Arthur to stop moping and get his _derriere _to the United Nations meeting the next morning. The other was from America, and it seemed to be some idiotic chain message that had originated from Poland. Ignoring them both, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and stumbled uneasily to his feet.

He must have had _much_ more than he thought. As he racked his brains to remember what exactly he did last not, or at least had tried to do, a massive headache came roaring to bid him hello. All other thoughts but a cup of hot tea and a good serving of aspirin flew from his head.

He left his magic room without a second thought. He had probably just summoned Russia again anyways.

After procuring lots of tea and lots of ibuprofen, England settled into his bed with a tired, miserable groan. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof, which sounded more like drums pounding in his hungover state. Drums…rain…America…

England pulled the covers over his head and burrowed his face in the pillow; seriously debating on the level of shit he would be in if he didn't show up tomorrow. But, he knew his own pride wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow those other big-headed nations make presumptions about him, like he was lying in bed and nearly reduced to tears because the rain reminded him of something that happened over two hundred years ago.

Gritting his teeth, he wrapped the pillow around his head, drowning out some of the noise, and fell asleep in that position a long while later.

...

The next morning, he woke up late.

It was France that woke him up by sending a flood of calls. England didn't bother answering, especially when he spotted the time and realized the meeting started in thirty minutes. He let out a stream of curses that would rival even his pirate days' rants and rocketed out of bed, rushing to put on a clean suit and splashing some water in his face so that, even if the rest of the world knew what he had been up to last night, he didn't look the part of a heartbroken mother.

By the time he made it to the meeting, he was twenty minutes late. Panting and nearly doubling over, he burst into the meeting room, only to find several irritated glances directed his way.

"England, about time you joined us!" Germany huffed, crossing his arms and shooting a discriminating glare England's way, only for it to be redirected at a snoring Italy, who was napping in his chair.

"Mon ami, whatever took you so long?" France asked with a knowing smirk. England held back his temper. If Winston Churchill was still his Prime Minister _he_ would have allowed England to deliver a left hook into that perverted cheese-lover's face.

"Shut up, frog," was all he said and took his seat. Once everyone had lost interest in England's tardiness, he raised his gaze and searched the table hesitantly. One quick glance was all he needed to notice that America was not present.

Well, that couldn't be right.

He looked again, paying more attention this time.

There was Germany, up front and already speaking as though he had never been interrupted. Italy was beside him, asleep and looking utterly hopeless. Beside him was Romano, who looked murderous as a smiling Spain poked him in the cheek with his pen. Sweden was next, listening intently and every now and again shooting an angry glance at Italy each time the nation let out a snore. Russia, Greece, China, Japan…they were present and accounted for.

Then he locked eyes with France, who was seated beside him and gave him another one of those perverted smiles like he knew something England didn't. He hated that smile.

But no America.

He was certain he didn't miss him. No one could miss an energetic, loud-mouthed, obnoxious lad who would no doubt be shoving his face with burgers and shakes or blowing off firecrackers in the middle of Russia's speech. It was his Independence Day, after all, and usually by now America was demanding them all to come to his 'totally awesome' birthday party that would 'put all the others to shame.' It really wasn't like him to skip a meeting, even if it was on his birthday.

No one else seemed bothered by it. Perhaps they were all relieved that he didn't show up to go on and on about his newest plan to end world hunger or something. Maybe it finally happened and the idiot became too fat to leave his home.

A part of him was relieved, but another more annoying part of him knew it wasn't right. Something was off about the whole thing.

"Wait a tic," he said loudly, before he could stop himself, and unintentionally interrupted Germany again. "Where's America?"

The other nations exchanged confused glances. Even France looked bemused, but his expression quickly melted into being _a_mused. He laughed and pushed a piece of his hair out of his face. "Were you not with him all night?"

"What?" England blinked. "Why would I be—?"

"England!" Germany barked. "We are trying to have a serious discussion! Can you even try to refrain from talking about America for _two minutes_ so we could continue?!"

A bit of color rose in England's cheeks. "Excuse me?" he scoffed. "I do _not_ talk about him every—"

"What place does he even have in a UN meeting anyways?" Romano hissed.

"Now, now, Lovi, be nice! You were just a colony once, too, you know!" Spain sang and attempted to pull Romano's curl, but got a stiff elbow knocked into his side instead.

"Shut up, you damn tomato bastard!"

China slammed his hands on the table. "I did not travel all way here to listen to another baby story!"

"Calm down," Japan muttered. "You're making a scene."

"You've done it now, Angleterre," France whispered. "Though, I'm dying to know, did you make use of my, ah, gift I sent the two of you?"

"What the bleeding hell are you talking about?" England sputtered. "And where is America? I know he's a dope, but, really, he's going to miss the meeting just because it's his birthday? How childish can he get?"

He was met with bewildered silence. Even Italy, who had been awakened by the other countries' outbursts, was frowning at him. England's face went red from the unwanted attention. "Why are you all looking at me like I'm mad?" he shouted, feeling uncomfortable hot in his suit.

"Is he drunk?"

"I wouldn't doubt it…"

"We should just send him home."

England gaped at each whispering nation. This must have been a joke. A big prank put on by America, no doubt. They were probably all laughing at him behind their confused stares and concerned frowns. "I…" England choked. "Damn it! Has everyone gone daft? Did America put you up to this? Well, it's not very funny!"

"No one's laughing, Angleterre…" France muttered.

"Ve," Italy spoke up, "I think England may be sick."

England was so flustered at that point that he could no longer form words. Instead, he was left stuttering half-finished syllables and incoherent phrases. "R-ridiculous…all of you are bloody ridiculous!" He started to get angry. He stood up and gave the room his coldest glare, daring them all to continue on with their joke. "If you will not take this seriously then I have no business here!"

"England!" Germany shouted. "Sit back down and—where are you going?"

"Home!" England huffed, practically steaming at this point. "I have no desire to sit here and be made a fool of!" He stomped off, making for the door. Before he slammed it shut behind him he shouted, "And tell America he's a fucking _git_!"

...

By the time England made it back to his home he was still furious. He practically all but tore his front door off its hinges as he kicked it open and then closed again. He leaned back against it, letting out an aggravated growl. His eyes slid closed as he tried desperately to delete the last hour out of his memory. "Bastards…every one of them!" he grumbled and stomped off to the kitchen.

The only thing he wanted to do was prepare some tea and forget today ever happened.

Damn that America…it was his entire fault!

As he entered the kitchen, England realized he wasn't alone. A taller man was standing at the counter, already pouring tea into a cup. He recognized the dark blonde hair and the cowlick curling up. "America…?" England blinked, even further lost until his anger caught up with him. "Hey! America! What the bloody hell are you doing here?! How did you get in?!"

America slowly turned, revealing wide blue eyes that were lacking his glasses. He was wearing formal clothing; buttoned white shirt and black dress pants and looking overall like a presentable gentleman. "Oh, Artie, you're home early!" he piped happily.

"What…why…how…?" England sputtered. "Wait…" he paused for a moment. "Did you just…call me Artie?"

America didn't seem to be paying any attention to him. "Did the UN meeting end early again? Or could you just not wait to see me?"

England was too stupefied to say anything, but he was pretty sure he made a rather embarrassing drawn-out noise. His brain was trying to make sense of the situation but he could only think of two possible explanations. One: America was playing the cruelest joke of the century. Two: England was still dreaming and was having a horrible nightmare induced by alcohol and his own paranoia.

America took a step forward, placing a firm hand on England's trembling shoulder. "Hey, Artie? Are you all right? You're not getting sick, are you?"

"Wh-what are you doing here?" England gasped. He was no longer angry, just confused and desperate to get America to leave him well and alone.

"What? Don't tell me you forgot I was visiting!" America sounded amused. "I know, usually you visit me this time of year but we both agreed it would be nice if I came over this time, remember?" England shook his head. He had no recollection of making any such arrangements. America pouted. "Really?" he asked.

England sighed. "Look, I've already had a trying day, thanks to you, Mr. United States of America, and I must say it must've taken you quite a while to set everything up. I say, how did you get all of the other nations to go along with it?"

"Arthur, what are you talking about?" America frowned for real this time. "Set what up? Get the other nations to do what? Aw, crap, did France tell you about that present he sent?! I _told _him you'd hate it!"

It took three hundred years of constantly bickering with him for England to know when America was being truthful or stubborn, and, when he peered into America's worried eyes, he realized that America really had no idea what was going on.

England glared at him cautiously. "Why weren't you at the United Nations meeting?"

America gave him a look like he was insane. "Why would I be there?"

"Because you are a bloody nation and you need to take responsibility for your people, that's why!" England huffed, poking America in the chest.

"England, I really think you should lie down!" America said, putting down the cup of tea and pressing his palm against England's forehead. "You're not feeling well."

England opened his mouth to habitually correct America's grammar, until he realized that the other nation had said 'well' and not 'good.' "What's...what's happening?" he muttered to no one, eyes staring right through America, who was busying himself with trying to locate cold medicine in the cupboards.

Stunned beyond adequate muscle control, England allowed his stiff body to be pushed around by the annoying American, who was going on and on about how England promised him he would stop working so hard and drinking so heavily. He sounded like England's mother. Getting lectured by that brat…it made England feel even worse, especially when America went on and on about promises England never remembered making.

"…All right?" America finished and looked at England expectantly. England managed a nod. He didn't trust his voice right then. "Arthur?"

England looked up to see America was handing him a tea cup. He took it only to stare blankly into the steaming drink. A long silence fell over them. It wasn't until he heard a distinct sipping sound that he looked up again. "Since…when do you drink tea?" England asked as America lowered the cup from his lips and gave him a puzzled look.

"Um…" America thought for a bit. "Do you need an exact date?"

England didn't answer. Instead, he took a long sip and let the tea calm him a little. "So…" he muttered. "This joke is getting a little old, isn't it?"

"What joke is that?"

"I…oh, you are an insufferable brat!" England cried. "Just tell me why you skipped the UN meeting? Just to spite me?"

"Whoa, whoa, England, calm down!" America gasped, dodging as England's teacup went flying past his ear. "I don't _need_ to go to the UN meetings! You represent all of the UK, so, I'm covered, aren't I?"

It took several minutes for England to comprehend the meaning of those words. "You…you're…UK?"

"Look, Arthur, you're ill. I don't mind staying in tonight. I'll take care of you, okay?"

The smile America gave England just then…it reminded him of when America was still just a small colony—

England froze.

"A…America?" he asked, feeling ready to faint.

"Yeah?"

"D-do you know all the nationalities that make up the United Kingdom?"

America broke into a smile. "Is this another one of your tests? Well, let's see…there's Northern Ireland, Wales, Scotland, and, of course, England, and, well, me."

"You?"

"Duh! Man, I know you're getting old but you've got to be pretty dumb if you can't remember your own sovereignties."

"My…sovereignties…" he repeated. "I…you…"

America no longer seemed to be paying attention. He said something about fetching more medicine, leaving England to sit in a stunned silence. He thought back to the morning, when he woke up surrounded by empty alcohol bottles and signs that he had attempted _some_ sort of curse. He couldn't have actually…

He immediately rose to his feet, eyes latched onto the kitchen, where he could hear America humming cheerfully as he fixed up another cup of tea. Gulping, he rushed for his bookshelf, running his hands down the glossy spines of each book until he spotted a thick, older text labeled _History of the British Empire_. Feeling more apprehensive than he could ever remember, he pulled the book from its dusty home and flipped through the pages quickly. He knew the page number by heart. Page 134. The American War of Independence.

But, when he stopped at page 134, there wasn't a passage on the revolution or any mention of the American colonies being disdainful at all. Instead it spoke of a failed attempt on France's part to invade the colonies (again) and that the colonies repelled the attack on their own. The American Revolution seemed to have vanished entirely.

What did he _do_ last night?

Feeling faint, the book slipped from his numb fingers. He could hear America's humming grow louder and suddenly two hands were resting on his shoulders. "Arthur?"

England slowly turned to look into the confused eyes of blue. America was there. He was really there. Suddenly England was fighting between wanting to laugh and to cry. Instead, he settled on taking the second cup of tea from America's steady hands.

England had no idea what he did exactly in that back room, but when he looked back at America, who gave him a smile, he wasn't looking at the same annoying, loud nation that he had shouted at yesterday for stacking his fries in a tall tower during England's speech.

He was looking into the eyes of his newly reestablished colony.

* * *

**Hi :3 because I'm a procrastinator and get nothing done on time, I started to wonder what England would do if America somehow became his colony again. This is only going to be a few chapters long, just something else to avoid finishing my other stories. Review, maybe? :P**


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, England had shut himself in his study and fervently avoided all form of contact with anyone whatsoever. He had ripped just about every history book off of his shelves, flipping through in search of any mention of the United States of America, but it was as if it never existed. The American Revolution, the War of 1812, both of the World Wars, any mention of the Cold War…it had all vanished.

He even dusted off the confusing laptop Japan had given him a year or so ago and searched the web for it, but all he found were vague, glossed over descriptions of America as a British colony.

He ended up just frowning at the screen, lost in thought. Why did this happen? Had England really _succeeded_ in performing some sort of spell that had actually rewritten history? It made no sense, but clearly something had prevented America from declaring his independence in 1776. He needed more information before he could fix this bloody mess.

He would have to ask America more questions to know how different the current history was from the old one, but he would have to be careful. The other nations were already whispering about his outburst at the meeting yesterday. He was used to having rumors spread about him, and rumors about _America and him_ but never had he felt so…nervous about it. It was one thing for France to run his mouth after having a glass of wine (or five) about "repressed tension" and that sort of utter nonsense but it was another matter entirely different to have the entire _world_ talking about them like they were a troubled married couple.

There was a small, unsure knock at his door. Before England could respond, it opened slowly and America poked his head in. "Hey, Artie?"

"Oh, America, it's you…" England sighed.

"Uh, can I talk to you for a second?"

"It's already been a second," England muttered tiredly, rubbing his forehead. At the look on America's face he sighed again and motioned for America to come in. He sat down across from England with a troubled look on his face and didn't make any attempt to speak again. "Well, what did you want to speak about?"

America took a deep breath. "Well, it's just…are you mad at me?"

"Pardon?"

"I-I mean, you were acting really weird yesterday. You went to bed early and then stayed in here all day today without even looking at me. So…I thought I might've done something to make you upset."

England sighed. His headache was coming back. "Oh, no, it's not anything you did. I'm just a bit…preoccupied with something. I promise I'm not upset at _you_, America."

"But…but you keep calling me America!" He frowned.

England blinked. It occurred to him then that they didn't refer to one another with their nation names. They hadn't done that since America was his…oh right. "Ah." England worried his lower lip. "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm just…rather confused…over…ah…work."

"Is there something I can do to help?" America sounded genuine, eyes shining with excitement.

England opened his mouth to dismiss him then clamped it closed again. "Actually, there is, Am—Alfred."

Alfred's face lit up with a familiar spark, one that England hadn't seen directed at something he had said for a long time. It was a nice change from the gloating smirk or the irritated scowl he usually got. "So what are we doing?"

England hummed, thinking up of something on the spot. "There's just…a special meeting at the UN next week."

"What's special about it?"

"It's…a discussion…about…" England gulped, "global warming?"

Luckily, this America seemed to be just as oblivious as the other America. He nodded eagerly. "I can help with that! Let's see…global warming…" Alfred trailed off. "Um…Artie?"

England sighed. "Arthur. At least call me Arthur."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred waved him off. "But…it's just…"

"What?"

"What's global warming?"

After explaining global warming to the best of his abilities to his newly reestablished colony, England was no longer awake enough to do any work. He was pleased, however, to find that Alfred had listened to every word he said. Moreover, he had taken care to actually understand what was said. The America he knew would have either fallen asleep or walked out with complaints that he was boring and old. This America, however, hung on every word England said.

And it was…nice.

When England announced he was feeling tired, Alfred had immediately climbed to his feet and asked if he could help with dinner. A bit flustered, and certainly not used to seeing the American so excited about housework, England nodded and watched in disbelief as Alfred ran off. He still had America's energy, at least.

England didn't follow immediately. His eyes lingered on his laptop screen. There was really no rush to set things back, was there? There was nothing wrong with observing things for now. After all, how else would he eventually fix things? He heard his name being called from downstairs and smiled. "I'm coming!" he answered and left the study.

By the time he had made it downstairs, he found Alfred already in the kitchen, nearly bouncing with excitement as he kept his eyes fixated on a timer. "What are you doing?" England raised an eyebrow.

Alfred straightened up and gave him a happy smile. "I think I did it right this time!"

"Did what right?"

"Scones!" was all he got as answer.

"Scones?" England scoffed. "For dinner?"

"You seem to mass produce them here." Alfred shrugged. "Besides, there are never enough of them at my place."

"Your place," England repeated. "How, um, how are things…across the pond?"

Alfred hummed in thought. "Fine. We're always fine. Why?"

"I was just wondering. Everything's…all right, then? No…internal issues?"

Alfred shook his head. "Not really."

England wasn't sure whether to be relieved or nervous. Before he could push the matter any further, the timer let out a long ring. Alfred simply redirected his attention to the oven but made no movement toward it. For a few awkwardly silent moments, England let things remain as they were. When Alfred made no effort to remove the scones from the over, England cleared his throat obviously. "Um, Alf—"

"_Shh!" _Alfred held up a hand, silencing the older nation as he continued to glare at the oven intensely. "I've got it this time!"

England decided then that he would need something a little stronger than tea before the night was up. It wasn't long before a burnt smell filled his kitchen. Alfred suddenly smiled wider and grabbed a pair of oven mitts. "It's perfect this time, I swear!"

"What's…?" England trailed off as Alfred pulled out a tray full of smoking scones with a satisfied expression on his face. England stomped his foot indignantly. "Y-you've burnt them _on purpose?_"

"Well, I was _trying _to make them like you do!" Alfred immediately reached out and took a bite out of a scone, despite it still smoking. He frowned. "Crap. Maybe I didn't leave them in long enough. Here, try one!"

England was handed a blisteringly hot scone, which burned awfully. He made a show of bouncing it from hand to hand, too afraid to leave it in one place long enough. "It's hot, you idiot!" England scolded.

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen and try it!" Alfred watched England expectantly, like a little puppy waiting to be praised. The thought unsettled England a little but all thoughts flew from his head as soon as he reluctantly took a bite from the charred food. England forced it down, somehow restraining himself from choking. "How is it?" Alfred asked.

"It's better than the fatty rubbish you usually eat," England murmured.

"Huh?"

"A-ah, I mean, it's quite something! I…haven't tasted anything quite like it." England said politely. Alfred seemed rather disappointed at the obligated compliment, almost suspicious. "What?" England asked, uncomfortable with all the attention Alfred was giving him.

"Nothing, it's just…" Alfred scratched his cheek. "No, it's nothing. Forget it."

"Alfred?" England watched helplessly as Alfred excused himself, suddenly cheery again, and exited the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight, England tossed his half-eaten scone into the trash and shuddered. "There's no way my cooking is as bad as his."

When Alfred came back, he was holding a large stack of papers. He eyed the tray of scones and shot England a pathetic pout. "You didn't eat anymore," he whined, looking stricken.

England opened his mouth to list off a hundred reasons why he would rather eat his own boot before having another serving of Alfred's awful cooking, but his retort was caught in his throat at the sight of those wide blue eyes. Grumbling indistinctively, England reached over and began passively nibbling on another scone. Alfred lit up at once and took a seat, dropping the pile of papers onto the table.

Was that how America felt every time England cooked?

"What's all this?" England asked.

"Work!" Alfred stated proudly.

"Work? Whose work?"

"Your work!" Alfred pushed it towards him. "I ran out earlier and got it all for you! Your boss handed it over no questions when I explained I was visiting for the week. He didn't even recognize me when I showed up though…" he trailed off, sounding upset.

"Alfred?"

Alfred snapped up, his cheery grin back on. "Anyways! Every time I come over you're always swamped with work and I never get to see you! But not this time!"

It would certainly take time to adjust to this version of America. But, he decided with a soft smile, it wasn't entirely a bad thing.

For the rest of the night, England worked in peace while his rediscovered colony cleaned. England nearly died of shock when he saw Alfred scrubbing the dishes with the look of determination he usually saw when America was playing a new videogame or dreaming up new ideas for a movie. He much preferred this sight.

It was almost like he had gotten his little angel back. The thought filled him with so much happiness he thought he might simply topple over. In fact, the only thing holding him back was the fact that Alfred didn't _look _like how his little angel had. No, he looked very much like the United States of America that he had just seen the other day, locked in a fight with Prussia over some bet that America had reportedly lost and failed to hold up his end of the deal.

Whenever England had asked him about it, he had just received the usual annoyed look and a harsh reply. "_It's none of your damn business, England! Leave me alone!"_

England sighed and ran his hand down his face. He didn't know why he had even _tried _with America. The lad had simply looked upset and, for a moment, a fleeting second, England felt almost sorry for him. Almost. And America's rude outburst quickly sent the feeling back into the darkest, furthermost reaches of his subconscious.

While hefavored _this _version of America much more, seeing him still put England off for some reason. He couldn't quite place it, but the nagging feeling was what kept him rooted to his chair and staring emptily down at his work.

"_Arthur!" _Alfred shouted. "_Are you done yet?"_

_Still impatient, I see, _England thought wryly but figured he had finished enough work as he was going to get done for a while. "I suppose I could take a break," he answered.

"Oh, good!" Alfred nearly ripped open the door with a bashful smile on his face. "I was getting bored!"

England hoped his smile was apologetic. The gesture seemed odd, smiling at America, yet it wasn't awful. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. I've been a horrid host, I suppose."

"Nah, it's all right!" Alfred chirped and casually made his way into England's study. England busied himself with tidying up his desk, shuffling the papers into order, and didn't even notice when Alfred shut the door behind him. "I know you've been having it pretty rough lately."

"Hm, yes, well…" England let his sentence remain unfinished as he now filed the papers neatly away before Alfred could question what they were about.

Alfred merely sauntered over unnoticed until he was able to reach out and rest a hand on the older nation's shoulder. "You're too tense, Artie," he whispered in England's ear, which only caused his body to tense up even more. "You're working way too much."

"A-Alfred?" England's voice came out in a rather embarrassing high pitch, but then Alfred started to massage England's shoulders and the British nation had to bite back the sigh threatening to tear its way out.

"That's better," Alfred said in his normal cheery tone, but something was off, something was different. England didn't care, especially when Alfred's talented fingers found an especially tight knot in his back before they slipped a little lower. England found the instinct to throw the other man off of him and kick his face in. He knew that it wasn't exactly the same America as before, or, at least, this America didn't have the same memories. This America was attentive and caring and sweet. He had never rebelled. He had never left…

England felt a smile push at his tired face. He unwittingly leaned into Alfred's touch and he even allowed a simple, soft sigh to slip out. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so…relaxed. Up until, however, he felt the younger nation's hands wandering a _bit _lower than they should be. They weren't even applying any pressure any more, just roaming across England's back. England resumed his rock-like posture but was unable to move away.

Just as Alfred's fingers brushed his beltline, England snapped back to himself and clumsily stumbled forward, tripping over Alfred's foot in his haste to get away. England flailed around unceremoniously, aggressively ignoring the half-confused, half-amused look on his colony's face. "Okay, there, Artie?"

England straightened up, flustered and embarrassed and he hadn't a clue why. He took to smoothening out the folds in his clothes and avoiding any form of eye contact. "A-ah, Alfred, I think…um…that is, you should…"

Alfred leaned forward. His undivided attention was fixated solely on England as if the next words would shape his entire future. "What is it? What do you need? Name it and I'll do it, Arthur!"

England believed him. Alfred had America's familiar exuberant attitude, but something about those wide blue eyes made him feel quite uncomfortably. He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar, finding it much too stuffy in this office to properly concentrate. "I…I can't relax with you…er…without tea!"

England wanted to slap himself. Even to him, it sounded stupid but he all he really needed was for Alfred to leave him well alone long enough so that he could figure out exactly what was going on.

"Tea!" Alfred looked determined. "Of course!" He took a step forward and stopped. "What kind?"

"Earl Grey is fine."

Alfred nodded and walked to the door, before pausing again. "And where's that at?"

England sighed. "In the cupboard over the stove. Where it always is."

"Right!" Alfred grabbed the handle. "And…the kettle?"

"Should already be on the stove."

"And if it's not?"

England rubbed his forehead. "Then try the pantry."

"Okay, got it!" Alfred piped and opened the door. "Wait, what about—?"

"_Alfred!"_

"Okay, okay!"

Alfred ran off with another word while England collapsed into his chair with a long sigh. "Bloody hell…" he muttered. He felt like a parent again.

And he wasn't sure how to feel about that yet.

* * *

**Boring chapter is boring. (Sorry!) This was sort of a "Get-to-Know-New-America" chapter so that the next chapter makes a little more sense. It'll pick up after this. :) Thanks for reading! :P**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

England woke up feeling even more tired than before.

A low rumble of thunder alerted the British nation to a fierce storm raging outside. It was still dark out; he had the feeling it was near three in the morning. After living for over a thousand years, England had gotten pretty good at guessing the time. Though, it seemed to pass too slowly these days. His face has stayed the same for centuries, but he could _feel _the passage of time in his bones. As he listened to the rain striking his roof, he was immediately taken back to _that _day.

He frowned. Each time bad memories came up to haunt him, he found himself nearly aching to call the very person that caused them.

Suddenly, as if on cue, England's bedroom door was nearly ripped off its hinges and America was barging in without bothering to ask for permission. "Artie!" he cried, looking horrorstruck and nervous. He was wrapped in a blanket and holding onto a pillow with a crushing grip that didn't look like it would loosen any time soon.

"A-America?" England was taken aback before he remembered the events of the last two days. The man standing beside his bed was not the America he had known. He was Alfred; a colony. _His _colony.

"Can I sleep in here with you?" Alfred cried, doing his damnedest to look pitiful. "I swear your house is freaking haunted or something!"

England gaped at him. For some reason, he couldn't wrap it around his head that Alfred was really real. He'd always pictured having America as a colony again but to actually have it…

England wiped embarrassedly at his eyes, glad that it was too dark for Alfred to notice. "You're getting a bit too old to be sleeping in my bed, you know…" England grumbled but nonetheless shuffled over to make some room.

Alfred darted into the offered spot immediately, disappearing under the covers before slowly peering out. Lightning lit up the room briefly and a respective clap of thunder followed. Alfred squeaked and slipped back underneath the quilt. England chuckled, reminded of a similar night nearly three hundred years ago, but with a much smaller America.

"Now, really, it's only a little storm," England chastised, his voice diluted by another low growl of thunder. "It can't hurt you."

"You can't prove anything."

"Alfred, for God's sake, it's a _sound."_

"And it's _loud!"_

"So be louder," was England's automatic response. He felt an unpleasant jolt run through him. He had always said things like that when America was a colony. When America had complained that things were too tough in his land, England told him to be tougher. When America was upset that some other human child had tricked him, England urged him to become smarter. And, when America was afraid of the loud thunder, England had just told him to be louder.

England, in an attempt to buck up his colony, had been unintentionally fueling America's overconfidence.

Alfred, however, didn't notice. He simply grabbed onto England's arm and refused to let go no matter how hard England tried to shake him off. "For—Alfred, let go of me!"

"No!" Alfred whined childishly and only made things more awkward. He wrapped his arms England's shoulders and buried his face in England's pajamas.

England froze. He'd always been awkward around America since the nation had hit his growth spurt. He didn't have any idea as to why, but, whereas as a child America hugging him would make him feel happy and light, as an adult, it made him feel uncomfortable and tense. "Alfred…" he gasped as Alfred's grip tightened. "I can't breathe…"

"Sorry!" Alfred loosened his grip dramatically, but he didn't release him entirely.

England groaned, head sinking back into his pillow. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling conflicted.

The rain was still there, still striking against his memories, still filling him with the same feeling of defeat and loss.

But, now, Alfred was there, too, fighting off the rain and the pain that came with it.

A loud snore startled England out of his stupor. Alfred had fallen asleep. His face was relaxed into a child-like expression. It was…cute. A slow smile spread across his face as a wave of affection overcame him. He pushed Alfred's bangs out of his eyes. "Goodnight, Alfred…" he whispered before closing his eyes.

For the first time in centuries, England slept soundly through the rain without a single nightmare and Alfred's snores were, sure enough, louder than the thunder.

...

When England opened his eyes next, the sun was shining brighter than he had seen it in years.

...

"Alfred, slow down!"

"Come on, old man! I'm getting bored!"

"Don't be so selfish," England scolded, jogging to catch up with his bright-eyed and bushy-tailed colony. Alfred had interrupted England's peaceful and tranquil morning by barging in, fully dressed, and quite literally pulling England out of bed and carried him all the way downstairs and out the front door, yapping excitedly about spending the day together before England managed to get him to realize that England was still in his pajamas.

After cursing loud enough, Alfred finally released England, who stomped back into his house, had half a mind to slam the front door on Alfred's face, and dressed quickly. Once he had reappeared downstairs, he found Alfred waiting impatiently by the front door. "Are you ready?" Alfred bounced as soon as he saw him.

"Why don't you tell me where we're going?" England sighed impatiently. Alfred was already pulling him out the door and running down the sidewalk.

"Nuh-uh! It's a surprise!" he called over his shoulder.

"A surprise? But it's _your _birthday?"

"Huh?"

"Well, granted it's a few days past now, but, still…"

"Arthur, what are you talking about? It's not my birthday!" Alfred grinned, looking at England in amusement. "You have a weird dream or something?"

England blinked. He hesitated for a moment, processing the new information. "Or something," he agreed.

"You're so weird," Alfred teased. His voice was so full of adoration that England stopped in his tracks. Alfred didn't notice. He just looked up at the sky and took in a deep breath. "Man, I've missed this place. It's been a while since we've seen each other, huh?"

England frowned. He saw America quite often these days. Their alliance was strong; stronger than most countries'. He supposed they could even be considered friends, but there was always that underlying tension between them. They were both too sentimental for their own good.

"Surely it hasn't been _too _long…" England said unsurely.

"Five months, two weeks, and four days," Alfred stated mechanically, flatly. He looked away. "Since you last visited…"

Five months? Alfred had counted? Just like America had when he was a child…

England felt a bit guilty. "Ah. W-well…I guess I was pretty busy."

"Oh!" Alfred perked up. "I didn't mean it like that! I totally understand! I don't want you to neglect your people because of me! Work comes first, I know that…besides, it's not so bad. Sometimes Mattie visits me, though he hasn't lately. He's pretty busy, too, you know, being his own country and all. He's also still pretty pissed off that I…well, you know. Oh, and I ran into Cuba and he actually thought I was Mattie? When I told them I was America, they just blinked and said, 'Who?'" Alfred faked a laugh, but it was almost painful to hear.

"Alfred…" England whispered, ignoring the unbearable sense of guilt ripping through his chest. Canada was his own country? How had that happened? Had he rebelled in place of his brother? From the sound of it, Alfred had sided with England in the dispute, and now the two brothers weren't speaking. England bit his lower lip.

Alfred snapped back to himself. The big smile was back. "But, none of that matters! You're here now! And we're going to have the best day ever!" He punched the air and laughed before taking off again, tearing down the sidewalk.

"Alfred!" England hissed. His guilt morphed into irritation as he broke into a jog to keep up. "Alfred, you prat, wait up!"

They ended up, surprisingly, at a museum. England frowned at the sight of it. He hated museums. It was like a time capsule, a collection of his past—both his victories and his failures—and a reminder of his endless life. What other people saw as a painting of Queen Elizabeth I, England saw a beloved friend that he had lost long ago. When other people took pictures of a suit of knight armor, England pictured the days when his country was full of internal violence and war. It made him uncomfortable and sad. It was almost like walking through his tomb.

Alfred, on the other hand, looked overly excited. "Man, your history is so cool!" he beamed. He precariously leaned over the security rope to observe the suit of armor. "Hey, Artie, did you ever wear one of these?"

"A few times," England ground out.

"Awesome! Did you, uh, joust or whatever it's called? Oh! Did you have a big castle with a moat and an alligator?"

England sighed. "No, Alfred. There were no alligators."

"Bummer. Oh, cool! Look at that!" Alfred lit up and raced down the room to a large painting. England slowly crept up behind him, not really wanting to relive his past. "Holy shit! Artie! Is that you? In the painting! Look!"

England squinted at the painting Alfred was pointing at. He recognized it as the first meeting of Parliament in 1707. He had been present and it seemed the artist hadn't failed to include him in the scene. He frowned at the sight. "It could be anyone…" he mumbled. "I don't even remember when this was done."

"I'm certain it's you!" Alfred smiled. "Look at those eyebrows!"

"Watch it, boy." England growled warningly.

"Whoa! Check that out! Is that a real cannon?" Alfred gasped, taking off again.

England sighed before reluctantly following Alfred. He shoved his hands in his pockets and couldn't help but feel a little twinge of jealousy that the America he had known hadn't ever taken such an interest in his history, especially when he himself had kept a close eye on everything America had done since his declaration.

_Since when have they become two different people? _England thought irritably. He _had _been treating America and Alfred like two separate people, comparing and contrasting them. But, weren't they one and the same?

He looked over at Alfred, who was eyeing the Union Jack with a proud look.

No. They were definitely not the same.

...

After the museum, Alfred complained endlessly that he was hungry.

England rolled his eyes. Some traits, it seemed, would always remain an unchangeable part of America. "I suppose you'll want McDonald's," he huffed habitually. "I thought there was one around this block…but perhaps I was mistaken…"

"What's a McDonald's?" Alfred asked curiously. "Where are we anyways? Is Big Ben nearby? I haven't seen that in ages!"

England pursed his lips. Of course Alfred had no idea what McDonald's was. His people had been the ones to create fast food and, without his independence, Alfred didn't really _have _people. He still represented them, of course, but his power was undermined by the fact that he was under the control of the United Kingdom…of England. "Big Ben's on the other side of the city. We can see it later, I suppose, if it means that much to you."

"Awesome!" Alfred put on a smile that was so full of trust and faith that England couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve it. "Then let's just find a place to eat and get moving!"

"Y-yes…" England sputtered and racked his brains for a place to eat. He grabbed Alfred's elbow and began leading him down the opposite direction. "I think there's a nice little pub down a bit here."

Alfred was staring at England's hand on his arm. "A pub?"

England threw a look over his shoulder. "Yes. They have food there, too. Besides, we've had a few drinks together before, haven't we?" He _really _needed a drink.

Alfred smiled sheepishly. "Not really…"

"No?"

He shrugged. "You always said it wasn't 'proper behavior' or whatever."

England didn't answer.

It was unbearably hot by the time they made it to a small, but lively, pub. Despite that it was late afternoon, the heat was only getting worse. England wiped a bit of sweat off of his forehead before turning to see Alfred doing the same.

"Ah, there are a few open seats right at the bar!" England nodded in the direction of some vacant stools. He made for them with Alfred, seeming rather nervous, at his heels. They took a seat and England ordered them their drinks as Alfred had no clue what anything was called.

Alfred jumped whenever a patron in the back let out a particularly loud cackle of laughter, slapping another man on the back and calling for another round. England's lips twitched up at his colony's shy attitude. "All right, there, Alfred?"

Alfred flinched again and resumed his fake smile. "Haha…of course! It's just…I've never been in a pub before."

"Never?"

Alfred shook his head.

"Well, you've had alcohol before, haven't you?"

"Uh…a few times."

"Ever been drunk?"

Alfred's face turned red as he shook his head again.

England scoffed before he could help it. "What? You're telling me you've never been pissed? Damn Puritans…" Alfred's blush reached his ears. England coughed into his hand. "W-well then, I suppose it's my job to amend that."

"Wh-what?" Alfred looked horrified. "Arthur, what are you saying?"

"Come on, lad, there's nothing wrong with turning up a pint every once in a while!"

"B-but you…you always…" Alfred grimaced. "Who are you and what have you done with Arthur?"

England snorted as the bartender finally returned with their drinks. If only Alfred knew…

He raised his glass, motioning for Alfred to do the same, and waited until Alfred eventually, hesitantly lifted it as well. "Bottoms up!" he cheered and started to drink. Alfred watched him suspiciously for a moment until bringing the glass to his lips and taking a shallow sip.

He cringed and stuck out his tongue. "Ew…that's gross…" he coughed.

England laughed. "You'll grow to love it, I assure you!"

Alfred didn't seem excited but he took another short sip. "It tastes like…uck, I don't even know. Something nasty."

England ordered them two more drinks and told Alfred that they weren't leaving until Alfred had finished both of them. Alfred paled.

Two hours later, both men were pleasantly buzzed and laughing loudly. Alfred, who had obviously been telling the truth and had never been drunk before, was singing their national anthem at the top of his lungs, hanging off of England, who chimed in every now and again. Somehow, England's tie had ended up tied around Alfred's forehead. His face was flushed and his eyes were unfocused but shining happily. "I _love _alcohol!" he cheered, flinging an arm around England's shoulder. "And I love you, Artie! Man…this is…this is, like, the best day ever…" he slurred, nearly falling off his seat before England managed to pull him back up.

England wasn't as drunk as he'd like to be; mostly because he was too amused by his intoxicated colony that he didn't want to forget anything. "Easy there," he chuckled as Alfred swayed in his chair. "Maybe you've had enough…"

"Yeah, you're probably right!" Alfred hiccupped. "You're _always _right! I can't believe I'm out drinking with you!" He laughed loudly. "You're so cool!"

England snickered. "You haven't called me cool in over two hundred years…"

"I called you cool, like, seven seconds ago!"

England just shook his head, not bothering to explain himself. Alfred would never believe him. Then again, Alfred was drunk enough to listen to anything. "All right, that's it," he said instead, patting Alfred on the back. "I'm taking you home."

"Home!" Alfred sighed dramatically. "You mean your home, right? 'Cause I hate my home…it's stupid and empty and dark…"

England supported Alfred's weight as he lugged them out of the pub, leaving some money on the bar, and began the challenging journey of getting them both home in one piece. He pretended that he wasn't disturbed by Alfred's remark and concentrated solely on trying to read the street sign above him. "Ah, bollocks," he muttered. "I don't suppose you can see that, can you, Alfred? Alfred?"

Alfred was currently waving off some imaginary fly around his head. "You hear that?" he whispered. "It's that alien again! I freaking knew it! Oh, crap, Artie…I think I'm gonna be—!" He suddenly spun around and was sick into a waste bin.

England wrinkled his nose. Alfred would be no help until he sobered up. Trying to channel his inner compass, England straightened up importantly, nose in the air. "I guess it's up to me…"

"Turn left!" Alfred cried suddenly, pointing to the right. "E-er…right!" He gestured to the left. He broke out into unabashed laughter. "I totally have no idea where we are…"

"Bloody hell!" England gasped as Alfred suddenly collapsed against him. "You're heavy! Get off!"

"Hmm…but you're _so _comfy!" Alfred protested. Then, he perked up a bit. "Wait! I know where we are!"

England glowered at him suspiciously. "You do?"

Alfred nodded. "We're in the pub!"

"We left the pub ten minutes ago, Alfred."

"Really?" Alfred glared up at the sky. "Whoa…Arthur, where are we?"

"All right. Hang tight. I'll get us home," England assured and let Alfred loll back against his shoulder as he half-carried, half-dragged his colony down the street. "Just keep walking. There's a lad."

Alfred sighed into England's neck. "I missed you…Arthur…"

Even while intoxicated, Alfred never failed to make England feel confused. Ignoring the rising doubts that were filling his hazy brain, England took off, letting memory be his guide. He supposed it wasn't always bad to rely on memories.

When they finally arrived back at the house fifteen rough minutes later, Alfred was still drunk and still clinging onto England. It had been a trial just to locate his keys as Alfred wrapped his arms around England's chest, muttering inaudible words. England managed to shove him off long enough to be able to dig his keys out from his pocket, but, by the time he opened the door, Alfred was back with more energy than before, hugging England tightly.

"A-Alfred!" he hissed, trying to wriggle out of his colony's grip. "Cut it out!"

Alfred shook his head. "No!"

"Now you're just being childish…" England sighed. Alfred just gripped him tighter. "You need to go to bed. You've had too much, after all."

England was surprised when Alfred didn't put up a struggle as England guided him to the guest bedroom. He dropped Alfred on the bed and sighed in relief when he was finally free of his death grip. "There. I'll be sure to bring you some aspirin, water, and a greasy breakfast tomorrow morning to commemorate your first hangover."

Alfred didn't seem to hear him. He was just staring at England with wide blue eyes, cheeks flushed, and hair askew. England couldn't deny that, in that moment, Alfred looked alarmingly mature. He was certainly no longer the child England had raised. Yet…there he was, still getting tucked into bed.

England gulped and straightened up. "W-well…goodnight, Alfred."

"Wait!" Alfred cried, grabbing onto England's wrist before he could make his escape.

"Alfred, what are you—?"

"D-don't leave!" he pleaded pathetically, pulling on his arm. "I…I hate being alone. I'm always alone…and you…you're so…please, Arthur…I miss you so much!"

A painful lurch ached in his chest. "Oh, Alfred…" England shushed, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry if I've neglected you. I promise to visit more often. But you have to be—"

"Patient," Alfred finished. "Yeah. I know. I'll wait, Arthur…I'll wait forever…"

England frowned. "Don't…don't say that…"

Confused eyes peered up at him. "Why? D-don't you want me to?"

"I-it's not…I…" England cursed. He was too drunk to deal with this. "We'll talk in the morning, Alfred. For now, just go to sleep."

In a flash, Alfred was sitting up and had his unbreakable hold on him again, refusing to budge even an inch. "Don't go!"

"Alfred, for God's sake!" England groaned, pushing at Alfred's head angrily. "What's gotten into you?"

"I…I…" Alfred cried. "I love…but you don't…but that's okay. Because one day…y-you'll see, Arthur. One day I'll be—a-and then…then I can say it."

"You're not making any sense." England sighed.

Alfred buried his face in England's shoulder. "Because it doesn't make sense! Why…why do you always…?" Hands reached up to cradle England's cheeks. England froze; too tipsy to understand what was going on and too shocked to do anything about it. It wasn't until he felt Alfred's hot breath tingle on his lips that he realized anything was happening at all. "Arthur…" Alfred whispered, eyes falling closed and leaning in, trying to close that short distance between them.

England cried out in surprise as his brain finally caught up. He pushed Alfred back onto the bed, desperate to reestablish space. Alfred bounced on the bed a bit then was still, keeping his eyes closed with a small little smile on his face. England, however, was certainly not smiling. His face was a deep red, his heart was racing, and he couldn't keep his voice down. "What the _bleeding hell _do you think you're doing?!" he screeched.

Alfred didn't answer. England realized with a jolt that he had passed out.

A confusing mixture of relief, shame, and anger rose up in his chest. He frowned at the sight. Adamantly refusing to acknowledge the storm of emotions raging inside of him, England pulled the covers over his colony and tucked him in securely. He watched him for a second and brushed his bangs out of his eyes, as he was so wont to do. "Looks like you and I are going to have to have a very uncomfortable talk…" he muttered. His heart squeezed uneasily when Alfred mumbled his name in his sleep. "Or maybe I won't ever bring this night up again. I still haven't decided."

He sighed and rose to leave the room. He had thought getting his colony back would have _stopped _all these crushing feelings. _So why_, he thought to himself as he collapsed onto his own bed and forwent putting on pajamas, _does it feel worse?_

* * *

**Aw man, this is so late I don't even have an excuse. I could lie and say that it's because of class. But I'm just a procrastinator at heart. Anyways, poor Alfred! -; I always figured the tables would kind of turn if America stayed loyal to England—with America being the broken-hearted one instead of England. It gets happier, I swear. :) Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

It was almost as if, to both parties involved, that the previous night had never happened.

The only indications were Alfred's blatant hangover, in which he begged England to never let him touch the stuff ever again, and England's own pensive thoughts. He ran last night through his head a dozen times since he woke up, thinking up questions but not having the heart or the gall to voice them aloud. Alfred seemed to have no recollection, which was something England had rather anticipated if the sheer amount of alcohol he'd consumed was anything to go off of, or, if he did remember, he was definitely not about to bring it up on his own free will.

England was stuck between wanting to know more about Alfred's drunken, yet seemingly honest babbling and wanting to completely wipe the memory of it all clean out of his head. He was still locked in a war with himself by the time Alfred finally descended the stairs, looking shaken and downright miserable. His hair was a wreck, there were dark shadows around his dull eyes, and England realized with a start that his colony needed to shave.

_Not so much of a boy anymore, _he thought dryly.

"Good morning, Alfred," England said. He received a drawn-out groan as a response. England chuckled and brought his cup of tea to his lips. "Sleep well?"

"I slept fine," Alfred grumbled, taking a seat across from England and helping himself to a cup of his own. "It was waking up that did me in."

"And how are you enjoying your first hangover?"

"Shoot me if I ever get within three feet of a pub again."

"Come now, it can't be _that _bad. I don't even remember _my _first hangover." England tried to think back, he really did, but the years have long since merged into one large lump of memory. It was nearly impossible to distinguish one year from the other.

Alfred frowned and didn't meet England's gaze. "It's not really the headache or the throwing up that's bugging me…"

England raised an inquisitive brow. He lowered his cup onto its saucer and then lowered them both onto the table deftly before asking the obviously baited question. "And what is bugging you, then?"

Alfred stayed silent, but looked up longingly into England's eyes. England quickly dropped his, clambering quickly to occupy himself with his tea once more. A few unnerved minutes passed before England simply couldn't take the awkward silence a moment longer and decided to address the elephant in the room. "C-could it be…what happened last night? That is to say, once we made it home?"

Alfred's face went scarlet and England knew he had hit the nail right on the head. He felt a bit bad for bringing it up, but he would have felt worse for the lad if he hadn't. He owed Alfred this much, at the least. "S-sorry…" Alfred mumbled. "I…I don't really remember anything."

England repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious lie. "Well, I remember everything quite clearly, if you'd like me to remind you of the details."

"N-no, no, that's fine!" Alfred gasped out too readily. He seemed to realize that himself as he shrunk back into his chair. "I-I mean…it's not really…important…so…"

England sighed. "It seemed pretty important at the time, Alfred. It was clearly something that has been eating away at you for a while. Why don't you just come out and say it?"

Alfred's teacup shook uneasily in his hand. He gulped, eyes flashing in every which direction that _wasn't _at England, and looked very similar to a suffocating fish. To say he was nervous was an understatement. The poor boy looked terrified. "I…I...!" Alfred took in a shaky breath.

"Alfred…?" England made to touch his colony's hand, but, suddenly, unexpectedly, Alfred jumped out of his seat and spilled all of his tea in the process.

"Ah! I'm so, so sorry!" Alfred cried, mortified. He bent down and started gathering the broken shards of his cup. "Shit! I'm so sorry, Artie! I swear I didn't mean any of it!"

England had the feeling he wasn't just speaking of the broken china and the wasted tea. He waved Alfred off and offered him a warm smile. "It's fine, Alfred. There's no need to be so worked up over everything. Be careful not to cut yourself—here, I'll do it." England rose and bent down beside his colony, grabbing a rag off of the table, and began cleaning up the mess.

Alfred was just gaping at him, mouth opening and closing with no noise escaping, and looked near tears. "Y-you…why are you…?"

"Why am I what?" England asked, mopping up the spill with a kind of patience that took a millennium to master.

"You're different," Alfred whispered, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "I mean, you look like Arthur. You talk like Arthur. But you're _not _the Arthur I know. What…what happened to you?"

"What do you mean I'm not the Arthur you know?" England rasped. Were he and this world's version of him that different? What had he done wrong?

"Like…" Alfred gulped. "Like you're…you're more…um…I-I mean…"

"You can say it, Alfred," England urged. "I won't be offended." Mostly because it wasn't really about _him, _per se.

Alfred fidgeted where he sat. It took several more tries from England before he finally answered. "You've been a lot…_nicer _lately. I mean, you're always nice!" Alfred asserted quickly, holding his hands up in defense. "I just meant…well, you would _never _have taken me out drinking with you before. Usually, you'd have my head if I broke one of your teacups. You would _never _have let me get away with…" He pursed his lips and left his sentence unfinished.

England ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how the hell he was supposed to respond to that. After hesitating for as long as he supposed he could, he reached out and placed his hand on Alfred's tense shoulder. Alfred looked at him helplessly.

Maybe England could get it right this time. He had lost America because he hadn't listened, right? Maybe it was time to take the boy's words a bit more seriously.

He squeezed Alfred's shoulder. "I haven't been quite fair to you, have I?" he whispered. Alfred didn't say anything, but, then again, England hadn't expected him to. "Maybe it doesn't seem like it sometimes—er—most times, but…I could never truly hate you, Alfred. No matter what."

There. He'd said it. It took him almost three hundred years, but he did. Alfred was giving him a blank look and England wondered if he hadn't heard him. Like hell would England ever repeat those words. Maybe in another three hundred years if they were lucky.

The silence stretched on. Then, mercifully, Alfred spoke. "Really?"

"Really, really." England nodded. "After all, we're family."

Alfred's shoulders sagged a bit. He dropped his gaze to the floor, hiding his expression. "Family…" he repeated gloomily as he searched England's eyes for something. "If that's what you want…" He brightened up, smiling widely with the same charm that had been with him for centuries. "Then we totally have to go sign up for that brother go-kart race thing!"

England released a rush of air, holding his now throbbing forehead delicately. "Where on Earth did you hear about something as ridiculous as that?"

"There were a bunch of posters for it posted up all over the city."

"And why, pray tell, would I ever agree to something as childish as that?"

"Because we're _family," _Alfred taunted, though his smile seemed forced and strained. England grimaced. Alfred just responded by cheekily sticking out his tongue and breaking into a fit of loud laughter. The gesture was so _America _that England felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest.

He quickly busied himself with his tea again. "Git."

Alfred only laughed, and suddenly everything was back to normal. Or, at least, back to the way it had been the last few days.

...

England drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently, keeping a wary eye on his closed and locked study door. The last thing he wanted was for Alfred to walk in during his conversation. Normally, he would resort to such low tactics, but what had transpired last night made him feel as if he had no other options. So, while desperately throwing chore after chore at his colony to keep him preoccupied, England reluctantly called the one person that could shed some light on the situation.

"_Bonjour," _France's incessant sing-song voice came through the line.

"Frog," England greeted. It hadn't been the _rudest _way he he'd ever answered the French nation.

"_Ah, what a surprise! To what do I owe the displeasure,_ _Angleterre?"_

"Arsehole," he grunted. "I have questions and I demand answers."

"_I only took the pictures! I do not know how they got on the internet!"_

England groaned. "Not those kinds of questions, you git, I meant—h-hey, wait a minute! What pictures?"

France chortled nasally. _"Oh, I don't want to bother you with such trivial little details! I swear to you that I didn't share anything too obscene. Though, I swear it's like you want me to take these pictures with the way you prance around with your colonial beau."_

"B-beau?" England repeated, failing to get mad over the rest of the Frenchman's words. France snorted in response. England finally managed to find his anger. Slamming his fist onto his desk, he shouted, "Listen, you cheese-huffing oaf, I want you to tell me precisely the nature of America and I's relationship!"

_"Mon dieu, you're obsessed! Even I was not so possessive of my colonies!"_

"Shut it! Maybe this is too advanced for your thick head to comprehend but I'm not—" he broke off, wondering how the hell he should go about explaining himself or if he should explain at all. He bit his lower lip.

_"England?" _France inquired. _"Care to explain what's going on behind those insurmountable eyebrows of yours?"_

England took a deep breath. "I don't even know where I should start…"

_"Perhaps you should start at the beginning. That's where normal people start."_

England took a deep breath and, after making sure Alfred was not within earshot, began to confess everything. How he had gotten drunk, mixed around in magic, and now Alfred was his colony and how America was…or, rather, how America wasn't…

_"So…you're telling me…you've no recollection of this timeline's events?"_

England blinked. He hadn't expected France to believe him much less decide to help him so readily. "Er…no…no, I haven't a clue."

_"Oh my. Poor Alfred."_

"Why? Why poor Alfred? France, what's…? Has he ever come to you for any, er, advice?" England loathed admitting it but he had recognized some of the moves Alfred was trying, and failing, to pull last night from the long-since-passed, unfortunate nights he had spent with the wine-loving bastard.

_"Ah, Alfred has come to me many times with his problems."_

"What sorts of problems?"

_"Oh, I wish I could say, but I've been sworn to secrecy."_

"Bloody fucking hell! France, you narcissistic swine, you tell me what's wrong with Alfred right this instant or I will curse _you _to be my new colony and build a lovely pub on top of your beloved Versailles palace!"

_"All right, all right!" _France cried in surrender. _"Just don't ever mention bringing your dreadful cooking to my place ever again!"_

"As if I would allow my cuisine to be stained by your culture!" England hissed. "Now, you'd better start talking, frog, or start getting used to croaking!"

_"So violent…" _France sighed. _"But I shall indulge you. Your colony has always adored you, Angleterre, but…"_

"Don't make me ask twice, France."

_"Ah, mon ami, he came to me quite heartbroken a few weeks ago going on and on about how he'll never be grown up in your—how did he describe them—'sexy emerald' eyes."_

England choked on air. He slapped himself before stammering out, "D-don't t-toy with me, you bastard! H-how dare you spread such nonsense!"

_"I speak the truth! He is very taken with you. Has been for centuries. I told him to be honest with you but he said, no matter what, he only wanted for you to be happy. Now, if that doesn't sound like l'amour, I don't know what does."_

England held his head. His mobile nearly slipped from his fingers so he cupped it between his shoulder and his ear with a sigh. "Then what the hell do I do?"

_"I cannot answer that for you, mon cher."_

England exhaled through his nose, rubbing delicate circles his forehead. "You're no help at all, you damn bastard."

_"What will you do now?"_

England trailed a hand down his cheek, eyes flickering up to the door, where he could distinctly hear Alfred's oncoming footsteps. Suddenly, everything became much more complicated. "I don't know," he whispered honestly just as the study door opened and in walked Alfred, balancing a tray of tea with one hand. He lit up upon seeing England and it made him feel as if he were cheating him of something better. "I really don't know."

* * *

**Doubts, England? :3 So, yeah, I fail at writing accents that aren't American, so I didn't do a French one. You can just imagine it! X3 Anyways, thank you for the awesome reviews! I drive myself crazy thinking about how different history would be if the United States weren't so united. (Like if we didn't buy the Louisiana Purchase from Napoleon how would have affected the Napoleonic Wars? Or, what would the geography of America be like? And, aw man, don't even get me started with WWII. I guess there still would have been 'American' troops fighting for Great Britain but it's still provokes some thoughts.)**

**Okay, enough of my ranting. Thanks for reading! :)**


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